


the successor

by honey_sweet



Series: red dead drabbles [3]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games), Red Dead Redemption 2
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguing, Arthur Morgan Deserves Happiness, Canon Divergence, F/M, Family, Family Dynamics, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending?, Hurt/Comfort, I Made Myself Cry, Loss of Child, Please Don't Kill Me, Pre-Video Game: Red Dead Redemption 2 (2018), arthur doesn't know how to be a dad, arthur gets a second chance, arthur is scared and upset, he's trying bless him, honestly me too, im sorry i brought isaac up, its been years and i still can't get over the ending, loss of parent, non-canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:33:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24358867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honey_sweet/pseuds/honey_sweet
Summary: ''Where are we going to go now?'' The child mewled, kicking his boot into the ground below. Grinding the toe of his scuffed boots that were much too big for him. ''What are we going to do?''''I. Son, we aren't staying here. You aren't staying here. We're going to stay with- with my family.'' His father replied, looking down at the ground and shuffling similarly on his feet, not looking at his son not looking at the freshly moved earth.''I don't want to leave. Please daddy, stay here with me. Don't leave mama.'' The child protests.''This hurts me too, I know boy, I know. But. There's nothing else I can do.'' He replies, fixing the boy's possessions to the saddlebags of Boadicea. ''I promise nothing will happen this time.''***Welcome to a world where Isaac survives ... and Arthur doesn't quite know what to do on his own.
Relationships: Annabelle/Dutch van der Linde, Arthur Morgan/Reader, Bessie Matthews/Hosea Matthews, Eliza/Arthur Morgan, John Marston/Arthur Morgan
Series: red dead drabbles [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1312868
Comments: 12
Kudos: 44





	the successor

**Author's Note:**

> please don't hurt me for this - but i wrote this out of nowhere after wondering what would've happened if isaac lived instead ...
> 
> i haven't written anything worthwhile in a LONG time but here's my slight return of dipping my toes into the water that is red dead writings

You remember the day Arthur rode back into camp with his son. He dipped his head low and hid behind the brim of his hat, not daring to make eye contact with anyone. The boy on the saddle in front of him, huddled against his chest, was red faced and terrified.  
Arthur had mentioned he had a child, a product of a one night stand in the middle of nowhere with a woman who didn't love him - but you knew that Arthur refused to bring the boy into this life. Arthur would visit them both, Eliza and Isaac, every so often and bring them what they needed. He would support his son, teach him to fish and not leave the child wanting for food on the table or a warm set of clothes. And for all of that, he had adamantly refused that he would bring the child back to camp. He vowed his son would never know the same life as him, or that Isaac would grow up into the same man Arthur was, that his father - _Lyle_ \- before him had been.

So it shocked you when Arthur rode into your small camp with a tiny, wide eyed, blonde haired boy that couldn't be mistaken for anything other than his own son.

You were playing poker with Hosea and John, sitting idly by while a teenage John Marston grew irritated that Hosea was robbing him blind at his first round of poker. Hosea had begun teaching John the rules, but eventually John's youthful bravado had decided that he was going to beat the older man at his own game. You sat there, joining in the occasional round albeit halfheartedly, flipping through the pages of one of Dutch's favourite Evelyn Miller novels.  
The last few days had been somewhat on edge, for only you, truth be told. Arthur had been gone for a while, promising he was visiting Eliza and his son as he usually would every few months. You knew he would be back in a day or two, but once it began to drag on to more than five whole days without a word from him? You were worried. Bessie had assuaged your fears somewhat when you confided to her and Hosea one night outside their tent. You admitted something wasn't lying quite right with you, and that Arthur wasn't usually gone for so long. Poor Bessie had seen your worry, your young and naive worry. You were Bessie's chosen daughter, the only other girl in camp aside from Annabelle. But since Annabelle was usually on Dutch's lap just drinking in his company, and you were in the awkward stage of life where people like Hosea called you 'kid' still, but you were still several years older than John - he was the _actual_ kid in camp until Isaac showed up.  
Bessie had told you that there was nothing to worry about, that Arthur was likely spending the week with his son like he hadn't in a while. Hosea patted Bessie's shoulders as she comforted you but you felt none the better for the talk.

So when Arthur finally rode back on Boadicea, a small boy tucked against his chest and a hat covering his pinched expression, you knew something was immediately wrong.

John dropped his cards on the table in shock, going to stand up and approach the man before Hosea put a hand out to stop him. Dutch and Annabelle's laughter petered off in their conversation, and you shut the book you had been only pretending to read. Your feet moved of their own accord, carrying you towards where Arthur was lifting Isaac off of Boadicea's saddle.

''Arthur? I-Is... Did something happen?'' you attempt, but the man walks past you without a word, carrying his son to his tent.  
Bessie looked at you apologetically from the tent she and Hosea shared, and you lower your gaze to the floor instead.

***

A few days later you found yourself heaving a young buck carcass from the back of your shire. After spending some time away from camp hunting to try and distract yourself, the hurt that you had felt when Arthur had bypassed you had begun to dwindle. You understood he would be occupied of late, and as means of distracting yourself you started taking up Arthur's chorse around camp too. He'd been shut inside his tent for the last couple of days, while Bessie tried to get Isaac to open up to her. Not being able to handle the sudden cold shoulder Arthur was suddenly giving you, you decided that you'd get yourself away from the boy with the wide, bright eyes that seemed to always be brimming with tears and curiosity - or on occasion, youthful terror - when you walked past his father's tent.  
Heaving the carcass across camp, you put your head down and walked faster when you had to pass Arthur's tent to get to the wagon at the far edge that stored the food supply.

Dropping the buck heavily onto the back of the wagon, you take out your hunting knife and begin slicing the pelt away from the muscle and sinew. You worked away at the carcass, butchering the meat into small chunks that would be well received in a hearty stew, and tossing the scraps to the stray camp dog that liked to follow Arthur around at times. Hanging the pelt up on the outside of the wagon to dry in the summer heat, you moved over to pluck the sack of assorted vegetables picked from a farmers market a few towns away to pull out some potatoes and carrots that were destined to go into the bubbling pot of slowly softening deer meat and watered down animal stock. You chopped away at them absent minded, glancing around the camp as you tossed the vegetables into the pot hanging over the fire to the side of the wagon. Hosea was tending to the horses, brushing away at their dusted coats while John sat on the ground beside him, cleaning the saddlery with an old rag. Bessie walked over and passed the men some coffee, smiling fondly at Hosea before walking away to find you.  
You were still caught up in throwing herbs into the pot, and the occasional splash of water to keep the broth soupy before you settle the iron lid onto the heavy pot. You took another old rag and wiped away at the deer blood on the wagon, and the tacky remnants smeared along your forearms from cooking.

''How you doin' dear?'' Bessie asks, lifting the lid of the stew and lifting a pleased eyebrow at your work. ''I'm glad you can cook because we'd sooner starve before anybody gets John to make a decent meal,'' she adds with a snort.

You smile, looking at your boots and rubbing away at your arms from the wash basin beside the wagon. ''Ain't much you could get John to do decently.''

''While that I don't doubt, I'm sure he's doin' a halfway decent job at cleaning the saddles over there. Hm?''

''I'm afraid to admit you might be right there, Bessie.'' You smile back at her.

''You didn't answer my question,'' She says, leaning against the wagon and watching you tidy up the last scraps of waste and tossing them into the nearby treeline.

''Well, 'am doin' mighty fine. I think.'' Bessie says nothing, just raises an eyebrow at you and folding her arms as she glances over to the shy little boy daring to emerge from Arthur's tent and sitting shyly in the long grass right in front of the canvas flaps.

''I think I'm doing a sight better than that poor kid is, that's for sure.''

''Arthur wont tell anybody what happened, not even Hosea.'' Bessie admits, looking from the child back to you. ''I worry he's going to shut everyone out. I worry for him and that poor boy.''  
You scrunch your face at that in a sour expression at the thought of Arthur building his walls up again and not letting anybody back in. Bessie looks at you once more before walking away and returning to her own chores. You watch her leave and wonder what it would take for Arthur to come back out to everybody.

An idea strikes you, and you dash to brew some coffee on the smaller fire outside Dutch's tent where Annabelle sits on one of the logs, reading some book she must have found at the local general store.

''Fancy some coffee?'' You ask her as you set the percolator over the small flames.

''Now that would be mighty fine, darlin'. Thank you,'' she smiles over her pages.

''Enough going for me too?'' A rich voice hums over your shoulder. You turn and see Dutch leaning against his tent pole, cigar between his index and thumb.  
''Reckon so- there should be a fair bit spare.'' You say, standing up from where you kneel and popping your knees in the process. ''I just got to run into town quickly - I won't be more than fifteen minutes. I just got to grab something real quick.''

''Can't promise there will be much coffee left for you if you're gone that long...'' Annabelle chuckles, light and free from her perch.

''There'd better be you freeloader,'' you laugh in jest.

''What are you gettin'?'' Dutch asks, smiling at Annabelle.  
You wonder if you should tell them, but then realise that surely it can't hurt. ''I. I- Uh I was going to grab something for Isaac. I think the kid deserves a welcome present. I can't imagine what he's been through really. I feel for the kid..'' you trail off, mumbling as you watch the boy hug his knees and look around more confused and lost than you'd ever seen any other human. Dutch and Annabelle look at each other, then back to you in a sombre mood. Dutch places a hand on your shoulder and you know he's approving of whatever it is you're about to go do.

Crossing camp to the horses, Isaac looks at you briefly as you stride by, and you raise a hand to the child in passing. He does not return the favour, only continues to look at you wide eyed like he does the rest of the world.  
You reach your horse, patting her neck and vaulting onto the saddle while Hosea looks up from where he is grooming Boadicea.

''Where you goin'?'' He asks, one eyebrow raised.

''Just heading into town. Need anything?'' You ask, adjusting the reins and wheeling your horse around.

''A better job than tack cleaning-'' John mumbles sourly from the floor on the other side of Hosea. You snort in response, turning your horse and heading to the main road leading into town. It's admittedly a very short ride from camp to the small town outside of it, but it seems so much longer as you canter along, stewing in your own thoughts. Scowling at the conclusions and tangents all your thoughts about Arthur and Isaac go on, you arrive outside the general store and swing down. You know what you're looking for.

You weren't any longer than fifteen minutes, just as you promised. Your satchel now slightly heavier and swinging at your side, you dismount and head straight back to your now brewed coffee, grabbing yourself a mug and slowly approaching Isaac.

''Hey kid. How are you doin'?'' You ask, crouching down in front of him, cradling your mug in your hand. He looks up at you and sniffles, not making eye contact or saying anything to you in return. Bessie looks up from her tent across the way, and eyes you sympathetically.

''Say, you ever had chocolate?'' You try again. You can see he perks up at the thought of it. ''I happen to have some with me, and surely I can't eat it all myself.'' You smile.

''...I...I only had it once.'' Isaac murmurs, the quietest sound you ever did hear.

''You liked it?''

''I guess so... mama didn't really buy it for us.'' He says, grabbing fistfuls of the long grass at his side and fidgeting with them nervously.

''Would you like some?'' You say, reaching into your satchel and producing the bar you'd just bought for him in town. He doesn't look up for a minute, and meanwhile, Hosea stops brushing Boadicea for a second to glance over her withers at how the boy will react.  
Isaac doesn't move for a while at your hand holding out the chocolate. Eventually though, something gives and the boy looks up at you sheepishly.

''Could... could I have some please?'' He finally asks.

''Why of course.'' You smile, shifting your weight to sit in the grass beside him and letting the boy take the chocolate from you. Hosea lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding as he returns to his work across the camp from you.  
Isaac breaks off a small chunk and pops it in his mouth while you sip at your coffee. As you lean back against Arthur's tent canvas, you hear some soft snoring from inside. You frown, wondering if Arthur was struggling to sleep more than ever since his return.

''You enjoy reading much either?'' You ask over the rim of your mug.

''I can read a little. Not too much though. Only what my 'pa could show me.'' It only saddens you to think Arthur tried so hard to give his son a good life away from this, and for some reason unbeknown to you, he brings his only child back here out of the blue completely.

''Well. I can read to you if you'd like?''

''O-okay...'' Isaac says, eating more of the chocolate. You pull the Otis Miller comic from your satchel too, freshly bought from the general store, and open it with your non-coffee occupied hand in from of you and Isaac.

After a while, you are nearing the end of the comic and Isaac has brightened up some, even daring to laugh as you read along and he continues popping pieces of the chocolate bar into his mouth. Hosea and Bessie watch you, holding hands across the table you play cards at. They seem somewhat sombre, and off at the side, Dutch shows John how to whittle down tree branches as Annabelle finishes her own book by the fire.  
All of a sudden, the canvas of the tent behind you bursts open, the flaps swinging back wildly as Arthur lurches through the opening. His forehead is pinched, his eyes wide with worry. There are bags under his eyes that give away how little he's been sleeping, and his young face looks all the older for the stubble that has begun growing out since he has abandoned shaving himself. His hair has somewhat grown out an become rather unkempt from before he left to find Isaac and Eliza. He looks down at you in pure, unadulterated panic. You whip your head back over your shoulder to look at him and wonder what has caused the outburst. Isaac seems unfazed by it all - still focusing on the comic splayed open in your hands and the taste of chocolate on his tongue.  
Arthur runs a hand over his tired face and lets out a heavy breath.

''Arthur- are you okay?'' You ask, looking up with concern. Isaac tugs at your sleeve and begs you to continue reading to him. At the sight, Arthur relaxes some and crouches down in front of his boy.

''What you reading there Isaac?'' He says, coming to sit on the other side of the boy.

''Well - I'm not really the one reading it, Pa.''  
Arthur chuckles at this: ''Is that so?'' He looks at you, not giving away anything by his guarded expression.  
Isaac blushes, appearing coy at the admission.  
You stand, brushing dirt from your work trousers as the afternoon begins taking over the skyline. You pick your empty mug from the ground and stretch as Arthur takes over reading the last few pages of Isaac's comic.

''I got work I should be getting back to. I'll leave you to it.'' You say, not making eye contact with Arthur and walking away to the food wagon. As you pass Bessie and Hosea, you feel a gaze pinning to your back as you walk away.

Rinsing out your coffee mug in the wash barrel, you adjust your hat brim and set out to finish off the last of your work.

Your back strains from swinging the axe down and splitting the firewood propped beneath you. This was Arthur's job, and the ache in your muscles showed it. You'd cut firewood before, you weren't useless around camp, but never after a full day of heaving hay bales to the horses, moving sacks of grain to the wagon, stoking the fires and refreshing the buckets of water from the river down the steep incline away from the camp. You'd spent your time hauling, lifting, dragging while the sun moved higher over your head and the other camp members came and went about their own business. Bessie and Annabelle sat washing and repairing some of John's clothes from where he'd fallen off his horse a few days back - admittedly in possibly the most ridiculous fashion while on a hunting trip with Hosea. As the older man told it, a rabbit had dashed out of the treeline as they rode by. John's mare hadn't even spooked by it, but apparently John had. His mare had swung around as he grappled the reins, and displeased by the way he was hanging off the bit, his mare threw him into the muddy, rocky undergrowth.  
Sounded about right.  
Hosea and Dutch had ridden out into the town, and John was left to sit round camp and sulk at the laughs of Bessie as she stitched back a rip in his trouser leg.  
Arthur and Isaac had stayed outside the tent, the stray camp dog wandering up for a short time to let Isaac scratch his ears. Arthur seemed drained still, like something was weighing on him massively, and you wouldn't be surprised if there was.

Wiping your forearm across your brow, dragging what felt like the whole of New Austin worth of dust across your skin, you frowned. Your union shirt was sticking to you with sweat, and your jeans were muddied. Your boots were caked in dust and you knew if you looked in the mirror in your tent you'd find yourself in a similar fashion.  
Trudging back to your tent, you picked out some clean clothes and pulled your tent flaps shut for the privacy. After changing and washing, it was late evening. Hosea and Dutch had returned from town in high spirits just as everyone started moving over to grab their own bowl of stew from the wagon. Arthur came over, grabbing two bowls and headed over to Isaac who was sat on a log by the fire talking to Hosea quietly.  
You looked at Arthur's tired form as he passed by you. What had happened? Why had he brought the child he vowed not to bring back to camp?

''Arthur. You need to talk to someone, you're not having a good time of it. You don't have to deal all on your own with this.''  
He frowns, deepening the creases in his forehead in thought. He stays silent as you reach out for his forearm gently.

''You know everyone here cares about you. We'll help you look after Isaac no matter what. We-I. Arthur we care about you both. And ain't nobody going to judge you for whatever happened while you were gone. I want to try and help you, I can't imagine what either of 'ya have been through...''  
His tired, pinched expression doesn't relent. He's thinking about something and you know whatever it is pains him.

''You can't help.'' He mumbles, looking at his boots, holding a bowl of stew in each hand.

''I can try make it easier for you-''

''You don't know nothin'. What could you possibly do?'' He looks up and frowns at you.  
You know he's hurting, and you shouldn't blame him for what he says when he's dealing with such heavy things. It still hurts you though, to be brushed aside as if you'd not grown up with the man for the last several years. It hurts you to know he's in pain. But it hurts you the most to know that he's pushing everyone else away for the sake of it. As if the soft and caring man he was a few weeks ago died when he left camp and returned with his child crying on his saddle.

''You're right,'' You relent, dropping your hand away from his forearm, ducking your head behind your hat and turning away from him around the other side of the wagon.

***

You huddle into your tent instead of joining everyone else at the fire. You knew you were being childish, that you were no better than John's sulking episodes. But what did anybody else expect? You were hurting and the man you were just trying to help had pushed you away. He had changed. And maybe not in a way that you liked.  
It took another few days of you hiding away in your tent in the evenings and throwing yourself into work through the daylight hours. Isaac started to open up slowly, to Bessie and Hosea first. They treated him like their grandson, and he was revelling in the attention. He started to thrive slowly over the coming few weeks - growing into the boisterous toddler you knew he must have been before coming back with Arthur.  
Hosea took him fishing, you taught him how to cook when you prepared the camp stews, Bessie and Annabelle sat and read with him. And all the while, Arthur shut himself away. He started to go out on jobs with Dutch, or occasionally into town with Hosea. But he was nowhere near back to normal. He no longer played cards with you in the evenings, he sat around the campfire less and less, the bags under his eyes only deepened.  
But like he said, there was nothing you could do for him or his son.

You were sat on your camp bed one night, cleaning your boots with some beeswax and an oily rag, hunched over yourself and working away at the stubborn grime and dust. The others were sat around the campfire in the dusk, as they usually would. Their voices carried across the dry night air into your tent. You could hear footsteps approaching, and a clearing of a throat. You looked up to the figure blocking the entrance to your tent where you had pinned the canvas back against the frame. Arthur stood there, looking down at his shoes, two bottles pinched in his left hand as his right messed with the frayed edge of his holster.

''You wantin' some company?'' He mumbles, not meeting your eyes.

''Depends.'' You huff, straightening up from dusting your boots.  
He shifts on his feet, clearly uneasy. He clears his throat one more time, and looks up from under the shadowed brim of his hat to finally glance at your face.

''I just. I'm sorry,'' he says, turning to walk away.

''Arthur, wait. Come back,'' you say, patting the empty space on the bed beside you. ''Come keep me company.''  
He nods, walking back over to you, awkwardly setting himself down on the frame at your side. Silently, he holds out one of the bottles of beer he had held in his hand to you. You take it gently from his grasp.

''Arthur,'' You start, popping the cap off the bottle. ''Everyone is worried about you. You need to let us in.''  
His shoulders drop and he hunches in on himself, as if he can shut the world out with it. He takes a drink, a long, heavy drink from his bottle before he even starts talking.

''I'm sorry that I shut you out - I. I don't know what I'm doing here. I have no idea what I can do for the boy because he deserves better than this.''

''You thought about taking him and leaving?'' You offer quietly.

''I have. But I don't think I'd be able to deal all on my own. I'm glad it's not just me here for him because I'd be god awful at it on my own.''

''You know that ain't true Arthur,'' You frown back at him.  
After a short silence, you try again.

''Arthur, what happened?''  
His expression sours and he looks down at his feet. ''Eliza. She was real sick. I don't know how long for, but she were kinda weak when I got there, and the next mornin' she were gone. We didn't love each other - I ain't sad about that. But...'' He trails off and looks out of your tent to where Isaac runs around after the stray camp dog in lopsided circles. ''We knew it weren't love, but we loved our son and that made it different. It changed things.''

''Arthur I'm sorry. It might not have been love, but it doesn't mean it wasn't still worth it.'' You say, reaching out to rest a hand on his shoulder.

''I just feel so guilty for bringing him back here into this,'' He punctuates that with a wave of his hand. ''But I didn't know what else I could do.''

''You did the right thing Arthur - what else could you have done? Left the poor kid alone in the middle of nowhere with no parents? If you're worried this is going to corrupt him, then you need to remember how much worse it could have been if you didn't go back for him.''  
He seems troubled still, and you know nothing can lift that weight from him all at once. But you can try lighten it bit by bit.

''You know Arthur, I'd be willing to help you two out.''

''What do you mean?'' He grumbles, still stewing in his own thoughts.

''I mean - When I was growing up, the neighbours would pay me a dollar to look after their kids for the weekend while they went down to Saint Denis. They weren't rich folk, like. But they were better off than I was by a mile and. Well I guess I nannied their kids for the weekends. I might be able to help you out-''

''I don't need a nanny.'' Arthur snaps.

''That- Arthur that ain't what I was getting at,'' You sigh, ''I'm just saying I can help look after the boy with you. You said it yourself- you don't have a clue about raising a child on your own,'' You murmur, setting your drink down on the chest by your bedside. Arthur's mood has soured something fierce since you started talking.

''That kid don't need a replacement mother. Just because you want to play house and you ain't got a kid of your own to test it on.''  
Arthur's eyes widen as he realise what he just snapped at you - his lips part slightly in shock at the roughness of his tone. You, shocked, stand from your bed.

''I - I didn't mean that. I don't know why that came out - I. I'm sorry - please.'' Arthur begs, trying to take a hold of your hand.

''I know you're in pain Arthur, but you don't have to be an ass to the people trying to help!'' You raise your voice, placing you hands on his chest and pushing the man out of your tent. There are a few raised eyebrows from the people sat around the fire, and Isaac stops dead in his tracks from chasing the dog. The whole camp seems to freeze in that moment, while you push your rage down to your sour, bitter unconscious.  
Shoving past Arthur who tries to grapple at you as you leave, you head straight for the horses tethered at the other side of the camp. Arthur watches you stride away - he knows he fucked up. But like with everything else recently, he hasn't got a clue how to deal with it. You mount your shire, adjust the bedroll tied to the back of your saddle and begin to wheel yourself away from camp.  
As you're walking your horse away, Isaac runs after you, a tiny shadow in the dark. The sight breaks Arthur's heart even more as he picks his son up and carries him back to the fire and away from your retreating shadow in the distance.

***

  
Arthur spends the next few days pacing about the camp more restlessly than ever. Isaac's previously growing personality had shut itself away again and he begun to hide in his father's tent more and more. You didn't return to camp in the morning, nor the next few days after.  
Arthur felt like a prize fool - and while Hosea never said the words to him, he knew that he'd been stupid. Sitting around the campfire one night, almost a week since your disappearance, Hosea and John sit around trying to get Arthur to play poker with them. He was having none of it. He was once more stewing in his emotions, but this time, it wasn't sadness that consumed him. It was his own anger at himself.  
In the morning, John left camp in search of you. Everyone knew you'd never leave for good - all your things were still in your tent after all - but more than that they knew it would take more than a spat with Arthur to drive you away.  
He found you, half a day's ride away by Lake Owanjila. You'd headed up to Strawberry and into Big Valley, putting distance from yourself and the gang back in Blackwater. John found you in the late afternoon, fishing in the cold lake, your horse grazing nearby. You had your small tent and a little fire crackling outside your meagre campsite.  
John rode his mare up to your shire, hitching her side by side with your horse as he approached you by the lakeside.

''You movin' out or something?'' The gravelly young outlaw yells at you.

''You'd be so lucky,'' You snort in response, reeling in the perch you'd hooked.

''You planning on comin' back?'' John asks hesitantly.

''Maybe soon - I needed space to think. Don't act like you don't go off to sulk too.'' You scowl at him. He seems to accept that. As he starts pulling his own bedroll off the back of his horse and pitching his tent beside yours, facing the fire and the lake shore. He sits cross legged in front of the fire, folding his gangly legs beneath him. You return to the fire and begin to gut the fish you'd caught. You slapped the fillets onto the grill you'd set above the fire and left them to cook.

''So....'' John stares at the cooking fish. You forget he's almost 10 years younger than you sometimes. He's only just hit 17, and you're passing 26 just like Arthur. John doesn't seem to let that get to him though, he acts the tough man as much as possible.

''So?'' You echo, flipping the slowly grilling fish.

''What caused that whole show back there?'' John says, leaning back on his hands. You can see where the start of his moustache is coming through, and the small cuts under his jaw from where he'd obviously tried shaving for the first time.

''Arthur not saying much?'' You ask, handing John one of the smoked fish steaks.He takes a mouthful and chews thoughtfully before saying: ''Well, you know how he is. He likes to brood. I guess that's what you two must have bonded over,'' He grins, a wry shit eating grin and you frown back at the child sat in front of you.

''You're a little shit, Marston.''

''An' don't you forget it neither,'' He says, tearing into the other half of the fish steak in front of him.

''Arthur just said some shit. I got mad. I left. That's about it.'' You explain.

''Must've been some shit if it sent you running for a week.''

''That it was.'' You're reluctant to explain to John. He's not a stupid kid, despite the shit you give him for it. But still, you don't like talking about certain things. That is truly what you empathise with Arthur about.

''So?'' John pushes.

''He just said some shit that hurt. You know how he can be.'' You sigh and look up at the setting sun in the sky above you, leaning back on your hands. John raises an eyebrow at you, clearly not about to drop the subject.

''Fuckin' christ kid. Alright- I'll tell you. I was going to have a kid of my own once - before we picked you up. I was young and stupid, but then again who isn't? There was a boy I'd known my whole life in Blackwater, and maybe we'd never done much more than dance about each other as teenagers. So when we were in our early twenties... Well - you know how it is. I was going to have his kid. Not for love, but for stupidity.''

''Was it Arthur's?'' John interrupts with some weird fixation.

''No you fuckin' dolt. It was some rancher's boy. He died of typhus before the kid was even born, and maybe it makes me a bad person to say I don't really miss him, but it's true. I don't think he loved me neither and I'm okay with that, because I was willing to love that child. I was running with the gang already by then so at least I weren't all on my own. But. Well. The kid didn't live neither. I lost it- maybe a couple months later. Bessie helped me through it. It's been almost 7 years now since that. And the other day I offered Arthur help with Isaac.'' You rub your forehead, already regretting opening up to John because you knew he'd give you shit for this later.

''And he just said some choice words about me not having a kid, 'bout playing at being a mother. And. Well I won't lie John, it pissed me off good and proper. And I ain't going to run from him, but I needed my space away from that.''

''Christ.... I- I had no idea. I'm sorry,'' John says, looking away from you and out into the lake.

''Me too.''  
And with that, you two retire to your separate tents for the night. Not quite ready to go back to Arthur in the morning, but knowing all the while you had to eventually.

You weren't trying to replace Eliza - you'd never dream of it. But is that how you were coming across? You wonder if Arthur had a point. Poor Isaac was barely 3 - how was he ever going to remember Eliza? He would grow up and he wouldn't even know his own mother. And you'd be the villain for being her replacement.  
When you'd lost your own child, not even having the chance to meet them before they were born, Bessie had comforted you then too. She had known the same pain. And Arthur had helped you get through it - your individual grief of your lost child, and Arthur's engagement falling through. You'd just been two broken people trying to fix each other. And maybe you'd never loved the father of your child all that much, but you'd loved Arthur ever since. And he still pushed you away, despite the love he also felt for you.

***

You and John arrive back into camp the early afternoon the next day. Bessie and Isaac came up to greet you both, admittedly you more than John. Bessie grabbed you and held you into an embrace before you'd even managed to let go of your horse's reins.  
''I missed you girl, we all did.''

''Well - I was hardly going to run off on you all.''

Dutch came out of his tent, frowning at the commotion before knowing the source, although he relaxed on seeing you. You hitched your horse as John walked away and headed for his own tent, and Bessie lingered by you with Isaac.

''How is everything?'' You ask, walking back into camp with Bessie as Isaac ran on ahead to amuse himself.

''Well, Arthur's still sulking. He went out hunting not too long ago - him and Hosea. They should be back before too long I imagine.''  
You stop yourself outside Bessie and Hosea's tent, uncertain. You frowned a little, deciding it was better to just face Arthur yourself and work it out between you. Waiting until he returned with Hosea, you decided to visit the nearby river and wash the all grime and dust that the great plains always brought with them.

Arthur and Hosea rode into camp later that evening. They were both in somewhat high spirits, carrying some fine pelts with them. Isaac ran up to greet his father, laughing as the man picked him up and swung him over his shoulder like he was nothing heavier than a bag of grain. Isaac continued laughing and thrashing as Arthur held his son over his shoulder. Hosea hitched the horses, and you headed over to help him carry the pelts into camp.

''Well I never. I've seen a ghost,'' Hosea starts, watching you approach as Arthur lowered his son back to the ground and let Isaac off to go annoy John into playing some game with him.

''Now, now, old man. I ain't pulling a disappearing act on you,'' You smile and notice how Arthur looks down to the ground, clears his throat and walks away from you awkwardly.

''Never mind him - you know how he can be,''

''Better than you'd think,'' You snort, lifting one of the pelts up onto your shoulder as Hosea does the same.

''These need taking to the trapper upside of Rigg's station tomorrow and selling. Would've gone today but it was getting on like,''

''Well I can always run them up for you in the morning. Ain't got much else on.''  
Hosea just rubs his chin, nods at you and walks over to where Bessie sits by the campfire.

As the soft morning light filtered into camp, you shuffled out of your tent. Bleary eyed and grouchy, you head to brew some coffee as you stretch your back out. Earning yourself a satisfying pop of your joints as you straighten yourself back up, you pour out some coffee for yourself. You'd head out and take those bison pelts out later. Probably best to take the wagon unless you fancied two trips there and back with each separate bison pelt.  
Arthur came out of his tent to where you were brewing up your coffee. He looked less haggard recently, and he'd trimmed his beard to a short stubble and cropped his hair back to it's usual length. The bags under his eyes were still there, but somewhat less dark than they had been before.

''Mornin','' You offer, pouring yourself a drink and heading over to the food wagon where the bison pelts were stowed. Arthur followed after you, trailing slowly.

''How you doin'?'' Arthur asks quietly.

''I'm good Arthur.''

''I'm sorry. About- well. I'm sorry I was a mighty fool. And I'm sorry I hurt ya. I can't excuse that,'' He stammers, not looking at you in the eye.

''I know you didn't mean it. I weren't trying to impose or nothing. I just needed some time away too I guess.''  
Arthur nods a few times, scratching at his beard. He's never been too good with words or handling emotions without shutting people out.

''You need help with those?'' He asks.

''I was just going to run them up to Rigg's station in the wagon. Nothing too special.''  
Isaac wonders over, grabbing at Arthur's leg as he frowns at you.

''The wagon? Why aren't you just riding them up?''

''Well it's two trips on my own. Wagon just seemed easier...''  
Arthur mulls this over as he picks Isaac up and sets him in the flat bed of the food wagon where he plucks an apple for his breakfast.

''Want me to ride up with you? Two horses, one trip?''

''Not if you're busy or anything. I can handle the wagon on my own.''

''Can I come with you?'' Isaac asks quietly from behind his mouthful of apple. You look to Arthur and shrug.

''It's only a short pelt trip. Won't hurt.''

''Alright. Come on kid,'' Arthur relents, looking somewhat worried as he pulls both the pelts out of the back of the wagon. Isaac holds his hands up at you to lift him from the wagon, but you turn around and offer him to jump on for a piggyback ride.  
Isaac clambers onto your back unsteadily, holding on to your shoulders as he adjusts his weight. You walk alongside Arthur towards the horses as he heaves the two pelts across camp.

''Faster! Can we run?'' Isaac laughs from over your shoulder, and you break out running, spinning in a circle and holding onto Isaac's legs as he laughs and yells from your shoulders. Arthur doesn't say anything, he just smiles at you both as you reach the horses before him and place Isaac back on the floor.

***

Steering your horses up the shallow incline towards Rigg's station, Isaac shift in front of you. He'd decided he was going to ride in front of you, and was amusing himself by messing with your horse's long, shaggy mane. Arthur adjusts his hat and keeps his gaze fixed forward as he had for the entire journey. He was on edge, as if someone was going to hop out of the treeline at you and snatch Isaac away. You couldn't exactly blame Arthur, you understood he was nervous for a decent reason, but it still worried you by proxy. 

''Are we nearly there yet?'' Isaac sighed dramatically, rubbing at his chin and leaning back against you as if he were going to die of boredom if you didn't arrive at the trapper within the next few minutes.

''Almost,'' Arthur sighs, shifting in the saddle and leading the way up the thin track to the hill overlooking the train tracks below. The small haphazard shack sat in front of you, the lean-to frame covered in drying pelts and assorted piles of antlers, claws and hooves stacked randomly. The trapper was an obscure man, often found keeping to himself either in his tiny, weathered shack by Strawberry, or in his equally dismal and rickety stall in the Saint Denis flea market.

''Got anything good for me today?'' He asks, in a gravelly tone. You'd done business with him several times before, handing over pelts and haggling for hunting baits or sleeping furs. He knew you and Hosea well, often showing up with a few deer pelts in exchange for bait or trapping equipment.

''Couple of bison pelts - hooves and horns too.'' Arthur says, swinging down from Boadicea and approaching the man. You drop off your shire, holding one arm out for Isaac to grab and lower himself with. 

''Depends on the condition, but I'll take some good bison furs from you. I- I uh didn't know you had a son...'' He trails off, looking between you and Arthur. The outlaw beside you clears his throat and heaves the bison pelt from behind Boadicea's saddle.

''What will you pay for this?'' He asks gruffly, avoiding the trapper's statement. 

***

Your horses are by the Upper Montana river, heads down in the water as they drink in the hot afternoon sun. Isaac splashes around in the shallows a few meters away from you and Arthur. The two of you stand side by side between your horses. Boadicea splashes her head in the shore water, spraying you and Arthur in a cool mist from the river. It soon dries up quickly from your skin in the blistering heat of the Great Plains.

You take your hat off, run a hand through your sweaty hair and replace your hat with a frown. The heat was really uncomfortable at times, but at least the water could be reliably crisp and chilly. 

''I hope you know I didn't mean what I said. You know. About you being a replacement mother and all that...'' Arthur trails off, watching Isaac splash away in the muddy shallows not too far out, not making eye contact with you.

''Listen Arthur, I'd never dream of replacing Eliza. That weren't what I was trying to do. I was just trying to help you out.''

''I know.''

''I could never replace her. It wouldn't be right. He deserves to know where he comes from. He deserves better than to not know the truth.''

Your reply is met with stark silence.

''When he's older I mean...''

Arthur still looks out at the water, not looking at you ant not deciding to reply either. You look at the water lapping at the soles of your boots in the riverside below. You both knew you should be leaving soon and heading back to camp before it was too late and Isaac was out late at night with you both in the middle of the open countryside.

''I do need you to help me. I don't think I can raise Isaac on my own,'' Arthur admits quietly.

''Arthur I don't want to impose. I don't want to replace Eliza,'' You frown at him.

''You wouldn't be replacing her. You... You'd be succeeding her. Picking up where she left off,'' He looks at you now, finally making eye contact. ''I can't say I knew her too well, but I know she wouldn't want her son growing up without a mother.'' And this time he looks back at the floor as if he is ashamed. 

''Of course I'd help you, Arthur, I love you. But I don't want to take over where Isaac might not even want me.''

Arthur moves towards you, to close the gap between where you stand with the horses. He cups your face gently with both hands as if you were made of glass and you might shatter if he wasn't careful.

He kissed you once, slowly, tenderly. For the first time in months, he had kissed you. For the first time since he left to see his son, and came back a broken man. He kissed you, and maybe he wasn't fully healed yet, but he was on his way to being fixed once more.

''Please...'' He whispers, his forehead pressed to yours softly.

As he moved back, you both looked out at Isaac who was throwing stones into the river and watching the water droplets spread through the air.

And you found that, in that moment, you couldn't have said no to Arthur and his child. Even if you'd wanted to. You loved the both of them, and you'd never abandon that love, not for any promise in the world. 

**Author's Note:**

> i did proof read it but if there are major mistakes forgive me i havent written anything in over a year its hard to get back into it after so long


End file.
